


With Words

by AkisMusicBox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Byleth's terrible at comforting him, Claude finds a traitor in his midst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Marriage Proposal, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox
Summary: After one of Claude's messengers is caught receiving a bribe, Byleth starts delivering mail to Claude's quarters. The steady stream of marriage proposals sent to him only adds to her lamenting all of the time she has lost.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164





	With Words

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgence isn't always just writing fluff.

Byleth was sorely tempted to throw away the stack of messages in her hand. _Well, not all of them. Just a few would do, otherwise, Claude would be suspicious._ The last thing she needed Duke Riegan to think was that she was untrustworthy. That's specifically why she had been dutied with bringing his communications after his last messenger was caught trying to take a bribe.

It had been a setup -- rumors of some questionable activity from the staff prompted the exercise and only one had actually given in. Only one didn't report the activity immediately. One had seemed fairly impressive in Byleth's mind, but in Claude's, it was an utter failure. "There's some reason he did it," Claude had said, shortly after the treachery had been uncovered. He had run a hand down his face and bit his lip. "He was trying to provide for his family or find safe passage to his lover. Maybe his child is sick, or... it doesn't matter. He didn't have faith in my cause."

Until the extent of the treachery was flushed out by Hilda and Lorenz, only a few select people were allowed to visit Claude's chambers. The group consisted of essentially his former classmates and former teachers. And as Byleth was his chief tactician and leader of the Church, she had more rights than anyone else. She _had_ to have more rights because any appearance that there was a division between the Alliance and the Church would spell disaster for their cause.

So that's why Byleth found herself on the way to his quarters, carrying his mail. Before then, she had been spared seeing the truth of his burdens: orders from the Empire to stand down, pleas to send more reinforcements to the borders, and refusals to pay taxes. These were all varying degrees of boring or infuriating, but the worst were the ones she wanted to drop in the lake or combust with a flick of her wrist.

Marriage proposals. Claude had been receiving various marriage proposals from Alliance lords attempting to withhold soldiers. From Kingdom lords attempting to scrape back some power. Even Almyran leaders dangling scores of wyverns in exchange for ceding territory around the Throat. The first time she had delivered such a letter, Claude merely threw it to the side, until she heard a clink as it landed on the desk. "Sometimes, they send tokens," he had said dismissively and he continued through the messages. "Rings, necklaces, portraits -- they all end up returned with my deepest apologies, but there's a war on. My focus belongs here." He had then tapped on the map covering his desk.

She could send the rejections herself, but she couldn't begin to formulate how he phrased the response to keep the peace. Another thing that he was that she could never be -- tactful with words.

There were two proposals in her stack that day, one accompanied by a small, lightweight package. _Rings. Couldn't not be rings._

She kept her own rings in her coat pocket still to this day -- she had been lucky Jeralt's gift hadn't been lost when she fell into that great chasm, that great nothingness that stole five years of her life.

The clicking of her heels against the cobblestones was driving her mad. She hadn't aged, but the ones she cherished did -- older, well-spoken, capable, powerful her students had grown and she had missed it all. Claude most of all; his impish expression had been replaced with a cunning one. His axe training had made him broader, well-muscled, and it would have been a poor move for an archer if he hadn't been on wyvern back. Why would one need to be a small target when they could be a _flying_ target?

His smile was more genuine those days, but his missing braid bothered her. He had become a man in the blink of an eye. And not just a man, but a man that lords and ladies threw their children at left and right in hopes one of them would strike his fancy. And she had to serve them up to him.

 _He'll tell them no, just like the other ones._ But part of her had to wonder -- was it that he didn't want to wed at all, or were the offers not attractive enough? Was he waiting for just the right moment for a political marriage?

It shouldn't have mattered to her. She was a mercenary, a teacher at best, and Rhea's successor seemingly merely based on her crest being most fitting for the job. It was good propaganda to make the argument that the Goddess was on their side.

Her stomach curdled as she reached his door. She knocked twice, paused, and then knock three times. "Come in," she heard from behind the door, and she did.

His quarters were, once again, littered with books, maps, and papers on any spare surface, but he himself looked a mess. His normally slicked-back hair was hanging loose around his face. His typical golden attire was nowhere to be found -- only a white shirt with top buttons undone and rumpled, tan pants. He looked up at her from his desk with rings around his eyes. He managed to flash her a smile. "You're a sight for sore eyes, my friend."

If Alois hadn't been in charge of the traitor, Byleth could have stormed out of that room right now and beat the reasons for his betrayal out of him. "'Sore' seems apt," she said, clutching the stack in her hands a little tighter. "You look tired."

He leaned back in his chair. "I don't think I've been properly refreshed for a while. I think 'Duke' carries a weight to it I didn't estimate for." He reached into his desk drawer and a few moments later, a bottle and two glasses appeared. "Do you have time to listen to me complain more?" His eyes searched her to be his excuse.

Part of her wanted to give that to him. She could merely set the stack on his bed and stay with him awhile. She could finally have that talk that they were denied during their reunion. But the weight of that package was becoming unbearably heavy and would latch onto her if she let it go unaddressed.

She grabbed a chair sitting against the wall and pulled it in front of his desk. She sat the stack on the desk and took a seat. "Do you have the time to address all of your complaints? Especially when your attentions are requested elsewhere?" She slid the two proposals forward.

"Hm," was all he managed with a quick glance at them. He picked them up and set them to the side. "More condolences in the next few days, I suppose. I can't send an immediate answer or it would seem I didn't take the offer seriously." He began pouring two glasses of whiskey.

"But you're not," she needled. "You haven't been, but it's appearances that you have that make the lords persist."

He sat a glass in front of her. "And I'm normally not one to appease egos like this, but it seems callous to not be more careful with matters of the heart." He took a deep drink from his glass.

She held the glass, staring into the amber liquid for a moment before snorting.

"You disagree?" was all he asked.

"These aren't requests of the heart," Byleth said, growing annoyed. She didn't even _have_ a pulse and she knew better. "These are matters of politics. Of policy. Of strategy. And wouldn't the strategic move at this point to be wed already to end the pointless competition?" The question whipped her as well, but this game persisting was torturous to her. _One of them he will accept and waiting for it will be the end of me._

Claude's expression soured. "You truly believe that little of me?" His glare was penetrating. "That I just see marriage as another opportunity to gain an advantage?"

She gave him a wild look. "Of _nobles_ , yes. Isn't that what Lorenz spent his off-hours doing during school, finding a suitable bride? Just as his father wanted him to do. We had to take up the blade to protect Ingrid from a prospective spouse. Sylvain _'s entire view_ of human relationships was twisted by being born to a powerful family and bearing a crest."

"None of them chose to be born to this," he said, an edge in his voice. "Sylvain and Lorenz have changed. We've all grown up, in no small part because of you. I'm not the withholding boy I once was, my friend. Do you even see that?"

She finally took a drink. Why would she want to see that? Why would she choose to punish herself so, remind herself of all the time she had lost? Remind herself that she left them when they had needed her? But she had to live with that every day, and it was right for her to keep it in herself. It wasn't Claude's burden to bear. "So you can look me in the eye and say that none of these prospects could fulfill both your heart and your ambitions? That all were judged to be lacking?"

His lips twisted grimly. "It is quite a lofty ambition. But I don't believe I'll be receiving that letter anytime soon."

Her grip tightened on her glass. _So there is a person he has in mind._ She wouldn't stand by and wait for him to finally get to the point -- she'd get a name. "Then stop being a silly noble and send a message yourself!"

"I tried!" he snapped, looking at the map in front of him.

Her stomach dropped.

He clenched a fist and stared daggers at her. "I failed. I have had five years to send that message. To reunite Fodlan and make it clear to Seteth, to even Jeralt if he rose from the grave this very day, that I was a worthy suitor."

Her blood ran cold. _Seteth. Jeralt. He means... he means..._ She could have fallen to the ground, crushed by the weight of her shame. Crushed by the heaviness of her obliviousness. Her glass slipped through her fingers and it fell to the floor. As the liquor spilled onto the floorboards, Claude's gaze didn't waver. She was held by the force of his will, his unwillingness to hide from her again.

"Claude," she croaked. "You... don't... " Her chest felt tight, keeping the words from coming out. She wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to hold him. But it would be wrong, so wrong to invade his space first. "They don't matter. I love you. You don't have to _prove_ anything to any--"

He knocked his glass over as he bolted from his seat. In an instant, he was by her side, a hand hovering tentatively near her face. Heat pooled in her gut as he hovered over her. "I'm not a boy," he breathed. "Don't say things you don't mean with your whole heart."

"You should know me better than that," she said. She could feel every tentative breath rise and fall her chest. Emerald eyes locked in place. "I was sleeping for five years and my heart never changed. I'm not one to speak lightly."

Calloused fingers touched her cheek, and in the next moment, he kissed her. His lips were hungry and his other hand wove into her hair. The heat in her gut rose and she was torn between standing and pulling him on top of her. If she stood, she could press herself against him and feel just how much he had grown, but her head was starting to spin and she could barely trust her legs. Instead, her hands found his waist and pulled him closer to her.

Only when her lack of breath proved no longer sustainable did she pull away, barely a hair's breadth, but she let herself pant so he could feel it on his skin. She watched him with lidded eyes. Dark locks hung over his drawn face, but the flush rising in his cheeks encouraged her to wrap her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, skimming the hardened muscles of his back.

"I missed you," he whispered, his breath caressing her cheek. A thrill ran through her. "I missed you so much."

"I won't leave your side ever again," she said, tugging him forward. He straddled her lap and used the hand that was once on her cheek to brace himself on the back of the chair. It was her turn to capture his mouth, putting all of her need into her movements. If she could make up for the time lost she would, she would give him everything to show just how sorry and sincere she was. He didn't have to say he loved her -- she hadn't earned that yet. Him merely admitting his struggle was enough.

Her body was aching for more contact, so she pulled on him again and he sat on her lap. The weight of him felt more right than anything in the world. She ran her hands up his back and he hissed. "Please..." he moaned, his nails scratching against her scalp.

She pressed the pads of her fingers deeper into his back and ran them down. She felt his hips buck, ever so slightly, and a surge ran through her. Once at his waist, she dragged her fingers along to find the front of his chest. It elicited another sharp inhale from him. He pressed his forehead against hers. The hand on the chair found the side of her chest and glided to her breast.

Despite how strong and rough it was, his touch was gentle and it made her want to melt into the chair. If touching her continued to make the lines dissolve from his face, if it kept his gaze still locked on her, she'd never leave his room. She'd never leave this chair. She'd never --

"Byleth," he said, hot on her skin. "We can stop. If you want, this can all be --"

She bucked her hips upward greedily. "I don't want to stop." Goddess, she never wanted to stop. Time, she was robbed of so much time and she wasn't ready to throw it away.

He snarled as he kissed her again, fierce. He rose from her lap only to feel an arm loop underneath her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her as if it were nothing and took the few shorts steps to his bed. Only then did he pull away from her mouth and he dropped her on the bed. She bounced and then writhed under his gaze. He looked her up and down, as if territorial. As if he could see every scar that her lace and cloth covered and would devour them all.

She so liked his hair disheveled and his shirt threatening to come off, but what she most liked was the telltale sign of his desire straining against his pants. She arched her back as of beckoning him. "If this is a dream, I think I'll never wake," he said, running a hand along her thigh. "These were always more suited to psychological warfare, in my estimation," he said, tugging at the lace. "Torturing my every lesson."

She reached a hand on the waist of his pants and tugged. "Those letters torture me as well," she said as heat seemed to follow his every stroke.

"That's over," he growled and yanked her boots off and proceeded to her shorts and tights. There was no grace in the action, only irritation at the idea that it all was keeping them apart.

She palmed his cock through her pants. He twitched against her and his moan morphed into an impatient chuckle. She found the laces of his pants and worked them loose, feeling the wet patch on his underclothes. "Goddess wept," he groaned and his hips rolled against her hand. He yanked all offending clothes off of himself.

 _Everything_ about him was hard and attentive and she tingled with anticipation. His typical attire had only hinted at the physique underneath, and couldn't have possibly let her know he was covered in coarse, dark hair and scars. She wanted it all. She curled a finger at him and he joined her on the bed, straddling her. Before he could pull his mouth down to hers, he dove to the hem of her shirt. He pulled up an in of fabric and kissed her stomach. He slid more of the shirt up and kissed her again. More fabric, more kisses, until he reached a nipple and sucked it hungrily.

She rocked her hips up again and grazed his length. It caused him to nip her nipple. The shock made her cry out in ecstasy.

He lowered his hips, his stiffness resting against her in a way that made her ache. "I -- I don't know how much of this I can take," he moaned. "I wanted to prove to you that I --"

"Claude," she moaned, attempting to scold but failing quite completely as it came out as a moan. "Please..."

She felt him shiver. He pressed his lips to her ear. "I love you, Byleth. I love you so much." She felt herself tighten as his hips raised. He slipped inside of her and she couldn't contain her cries as he stretched her.

"Fuck," he moaned into her ear as he thrust inside of her, slowly, gently, that sent small waves lapping through her. In short order his movements became more insistent, more fervent, so she buried her hands in his hair to hold him close. The waves built and she pulsed against him, all too soon.

"Claude..." she moaned, weaker but more desperate. She thrust herself against him as hard as she could as stars filled her eyes and her world was only him. He kissed her again, and the kisses turned to grunts as he grew erratic, frantic, and finally, still. He sighed against her skin and collapsed.

"Byleth," he breathed. "Saints alive, Byleth." He slowly raised his head and looked at her. He was smiling softly, so free, so unburdened.

She smiled and loosened the grip in his hair, stroking it. "Let's keep the Church out of this," she said.

He chuckled and rolled off of her. She was suddenly chilled and very well aware of how sweaty and sticky she was, so she turned on her side to face him. "As Rhea's successor, I believe that's impossible."

An errant thought crossed her mind. "Was this your scheme the whole time?" she asked playfully. "Find a way to seduce the embodiment of the Church?"

He laughed properly this time. "Have I not proven just how soft my heart really is?"

Her hand found his cheek and pushed back a lock of hair. "I suppose. And I also suppose I'll need to borrow one of those annoying letters."

He furrowed his brow. She merely said, "I don't know how to write a proposal of marriage; I'll need an example."

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you serious? Byleth, I know our relationship is complicated, but I --"

She shook her head. "I already have rings, they were my parents', so that piece is taken care of." She pointed to her coat on the floor. She was so lucky she was riding the warmth of this moment to get the words out. To explain to herself the jealousy that had soured her mood despite getting to spend more time with him. "But I don't have the words."

His hand found her neck and he kissed her again, slowly, methodically. The feeling caressed her inside and out. "Your actions always speak true," he said. "Please, when this war is over, marry me."

"Claude," she warned, but his hand trailed up and he stroked her lip with his thumb.

"We can celebrate properly then," he said serenely. Then, he blushed. "None of this is going how I planned. I've spent countless hours finding just the right words, but in the end..." His gaze dropped, shyly. She arched her back to stick her chest out and he breathed a chuckle. "But we don't need to rush. This will be much more enjoyable than most of the schemes that I plan."

"Very well," she said. "But I have one request. Those proposal letters need to cease as soon as possible. They're driving me mad." She grabbed his thumb with her mouth and gave it a playful nibble.

His eyes lit up. "You were jealous? I hate to admit how much that pleases me."

She bit his thumb harder. "Hey!" he yelped. "Yes, yes, we'll announce the engagement as soon as possible. That will make them stop."

She kissed his thumb. "Good. I'd wake Seteth right now if I could be bothered to get dressed right now."

"You best not even look at your shirt," he laughed. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

**Author's Note:**

> I know Maslow's hierarchy of needs has flaws, but going from focusing focusing on self-actualizing causes to moths of the entire world struggling under the same plague and hiding at home is draining. Being filled with anxiety about places trying to open back up is... to say the least, a real creativity destroyer. So even if this wasn't up to my typical character development standards, it was weirdly cathartic. To literally get ANYTHING out is just nice.


End file.
